


Piece By Piece

by Minastara



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minastara/pseuds/Minastara
Summary: When Roger met Riggs, he saw someone broken and lost. As they get to know each other, he and Trish hope that little by little they can fix the broken pieces.





	1. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: The only change is that I added in the date of Miranda's death based on the episode 'Jingle Bell Glock'.

Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)

Key:

“Hi” – Speech

_ ‘Hi’ _ – Thoughts

Possible Triggers: Death of a Child (off-screen), Death of a Minor Character

** ~8~ **

El Paso, Texas - September 15, 2015

The day that Miranda and my boy died, my world shattered.

That day had been filled with excitement, for both the chase and the upcoming birth. The chase ended with a steady hand and a slow exhale; the bullet exploding with all the elation I couldn’t in that moment. My partner stood in shock as I jumped down and headed to the truck’s cab.

“You got this?” I ask, slamming the door as I start the engine. He waved me off as sirens sounded, coming our way. I put pedal to the floor and I head back to the city. The entire drive I kept hitting the wheel, barely able to contain my enthusiasm! I was gonna finally meet my little boy and Miranda and I would pick his name. I was partial to Lucas while she wanted Ronald, after her father. We agreed that we would wait until we met him to decide.

I got to the hospital and stopped by the gift shop for some roses for my girl. As I made my way to the cash register, I saw a small, yellow, toy double-barrel shotgun. I gave a short chuckle and shook my head. Only in Texas… 

Of course, I had to buy it. Miranda was gonna get a kick out of it. I finished paying and made my way to the elevators. I pushed the button; and, as I waited on the doors to open, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face again. _‘I’m gonna be a daddy!’_

It’s a short ride on the elevator to the maternity floor. I stop the first nurse I came across to ask what room Miranda was in. The smile that first greeted me dropped from her face and a small sense of dread creeps down my spine and takes up residence in my gut. _‘Is it the baby? Is it Miranda?!’_

“Mr. Riggs, I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident.” The rest of her words are swallowed up in static. _‘An accident? What did that mean? Are they all right?’_ The sense of dread from before has grown into a pit the size of a horse. I feel a hand on my arm pulling me forward. The next thing I see is a man, dressed in surgical scrubs, coming out of one of the rooms. Blood smeared his top and his head was down. 

The nurse calls out and the man comes toward us. He looks at the lady on my left and then back to me. “Mr. Riggs?” 

“Are they all right? Are Miranda and my boy okay?” I ask, hoping that the hole in my gut was lying to me. 

“Mr. Riggs, I’m Dr. Clark. I’m so sorry, but there was too much trauma. We tried, but they didn’t make it.”

That sentence echoed through my brain and I kept praying that those tiny words would change. I pushed past the doctor, running to the room he had just walked out of. I run in just as the sheet is being laid over my Miranda’s face. I stand there frozen, now praying that this is all a nightmare and that at any moment I’ll wake myself up.

One of the women in the room clearing up asked me something. I didn’t respond, or rather I couldn’t. My girl was there, not moving. _‘How did this happen? Why?’_ Then, the woman held up something, a flash of gold across my awareness. I focused on it and saw she held Miranda’s twin-M necklace. A necklace she hasn’t taken off in public since the day I gave to her. I reached out for the chain and the woman slowly passed it off to me. The chain and the M plates had blood on them. 

_ Her _ blood. The bottom just dropped from under me. I hardly felt the wall or the floor as my back and ass hit them on my descent. This wasn’t a nightmare; this was hell and I was living there. I could hear myself whispering “No… Miranda… no… baby, no…” over and over. The tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked, giving an outlet for a fraction of my pain. I have no idea how long I sat on that cold floor, muttering and crying. At one point, I stopped talking, though the tears kept going. Eventually, even the tears dried out. I had literally cried them all out.

It was then I noticed how quiet it was around me. The reason? The nurses and aides had all left. The door to the room closed, the cacophony of the maternity floor silent to me. Taking a deep breath, I look toward the bed. There so still was my girl, my Miranda. Someone had folded the sheet down to her shoulders so that her face was no longer covered. Though her hair was in disarray, her face, neck, and shoulders were devoid of any blood. 

If it wasn’t for the necklace digging groves in the confines of my fist, I could pretend she was resting. God, I wish I could make myself believe that pretty lie. I move forward until I am next to the bed. I lean down and rest my forehead against hers, trying my best to ignore the coolness of her skin while my hand strokes her hair. _‘Oh, baby. I’m so sorry!’_ I should have been there with her, instead of chasing drug mules out in the desert.

A small rap-tap-tap at the door brings me back to now. I straighten and look to the door. The door opened and in peeked an older, black woman with a short hairstyle in dark purple scrubs and lab jacket. She first looked to where I’d been sat on the floor. When she didn’t see me there, she look up to the bed. Seeing me looking at her, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Her feet gave the smallest of squeaks as she made her way across the room to the opposite side of the bed. I stare at her, wondering if she is there to tell me it’s time to go, to leave Miranda.

She seemed willing to bear my staring and silence, almost like she was waiting for me to breakdown again (though I admit she wasn’t too far off in that assumption). I must have moved the hand with Miranda’s chain because the woman’s focus shifted to it. She went to the small sink against the wall behind her, turns on the water, and dampens a couple of paper towels. She shuts the water off, turns back to me, and said, “How ‘bout I clean that off for you while you wipe that blood off of you?” She holds out both of her hands to me, a paper towel in each. I node and place the necklace into the paper towel in her left hand while taking the paper towel from her right. I use the towel to wipe down my face and get the dried blood off my hands as she made short work of her task. She hands the necklace back to me, not a speck of red to be found.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, my voice sounding harsh to my ears. 

“Oh, honey, you are more than welcome.” She takes the tissues and throws them in the trash. “Look, take all the time you need to say goodbye, okay? I came in here just to make sure you hadn’t passed out on the floor over there.” She walked back over to the bed and continued, “And since you’re up, this may be the time to ask. Do you want to hold your son?”

“What?” I asked, the expression on my face must have shown my confusion. After all, didn’t that doctor say they both had died?

“In cases such as this, the parent is allowed to hold their child one last time. To help them say goodbye, they say,” she explained. “Some folks want to do it, some don’t, but we like to give them the choice.” She gave me such a compassionate smile as she asked that heart-wrenching question again. “So, Mr. Riggs, do you want to hold your son?”

I had to hold back my knee-jerk reaction to scream ‘Have you lost your damn mind?! Why the hell would I want to hold a reminder of what I’ve lost?!’ at the nice lady. I looked down at the woman I’d planned to spend the rest of my days with. If she were here, she _would_ want to see him, touch him. She would want that memory, not just for herself, but for my sake. I nod and the nurse stepped out of the room. Five minutes or so later, she returns with a bundle wrapped in a white blanket. She gently shifts the bundle into my arms and I sit down in the chair beside the bed. After she told me again to take my time and to hit the call button on the bed when I was ready, she left.

My focus settles on the tiny baby in my arms. He is pale skinned with a tuft of dark hair. Just like his mother. “Looks like you were right again, baby. He looks just like you and your dad, though I will say that he’s got my complexion,” I say, the smallest of smiles cross my face. “Ronald Lucas Riggs. Welcome to the world, son. You will never know how s-sorry I am you couldn’t stay.” I laid a kiss to his tiny forehead, as tears I didn’t even think I still had ran down my checks. I looked up at his mother, whose face was turned toward me (when that had happened I couldn’t say). “I know you got him, Miranda. I love you both so much.” 

I hold him for what seem like hours, then with a deep sigh, and a final kiss to the forehead, I push the call button. It must have been the same work-shift because the same nurse walked in. I stand from the chair and hand my son back to her. I take notice of her name tag and finally thank her properly. “Thank you for this, Mrs. Johnson.”

“No thanks needed,” she said and he could tell she meant it. “Now come on. There are some people here for them.” She leads me outside the room. As soon as we exit, one aide, a man, enters while a second, a woman, receives the baby from Mrs. Johnson. A minute later, the man wheels the bed out of the room, the sheet once again covering her face. The two aides walk to the service elevators on the opposite side of the floor. 

As I stand there, watching them carry the two biggest pieces of my shattered world away from me, I knew I would follow them as soon as I can.

** ~8~ **

** Well, that’s the end of Chapter 1 of Piece By Piece. **

** I hope you enjoyed the chapter and don’t worry it will get better for Riggs. **

** I know, I know. How the heck can I start another fic when I haven’t updated the JL one or finished the Crow one in over a year? I’ll tell you. The dang plot bunny kept jumping on my head for this one. I mean, it literally had me up to 2:30 in the morning writing and shedding tears for Riggs.  **

** Now, I will warn you, this is planned to be an OT3 featuring Roger/Trish/Martin. If you don’t like, you can stop here.  **

** Also, I have no idea where I’m going with this, so updates may be sporadic at best.  **


	2. Minutes, Hours, Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a side-note: Wasn't that finale awesome?! I cannot wait for next season!

Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)

Key:

“Hi” – Speech

_‘Hi’_ – Thoughts

**~8~**

_**Takes Place During the Pilot** _

** 3 Minutes **

Three minutes after meeting my new partner, Martin Riggs, I knew he was crazy. I mean, who goes into a hostage situation with nothing, but pizzas and a charming smile?

Apparently, this lunatic.

From what I could hear over the wire, this certifiable idiot is suggesting that the robbers kill a hostage (to up their cred, he said) and is serving himself up as the sacrificial lamb! I’ve got no choice, but to breach the bank and hope for minimum causalities. I’m half way to the door when we all hear shots sound out. Seconds later, men and women are tearing out of the bank, screaming.

Then, the cowboy walks out munching on a slice of the pizza he’d taken in with him. “What the hell were you doing?” I demand. He just smiles, wipes his hand off on his jeans, holds it out to me, and introduces himself. It would have been nice if he had mentioned the damn bomb instead. The concussive force of the blast had me stumbling back with him being pushed into my arms.

“Whoa!” he exclaims. He steadies himself, hands still grasping my upper arms. He lets go of me and turns back to the now enflamed building. “Well, I’m impressed. Those guys didn’t seem like they knew C-4 from clay,” he says. Now whether he was talking to me or himself, I couldn’t tell. He raises his right hand to shove the fringe of his hair away from his face. Then, he turns back to me and shows off that grin again. All I could do is stare at him. This man has almost gotten blown away (in more ways than one) and he is _smiling_! _‘Oh, hell no! I didn’t survive a heart attack to deal with this insane shit.’_

**~8~**

** 30 Hours **

Thirty hours after meeting Riggs I knew he had a death wish. True, the bank robbery and subsequent bomb should have been my first clues. Personally, I blame Avery.

After explaining to me how he would end his life, which was disturbing on multiple levels, the man is jumping out of and on top of moving cars. Moving cars! As my watch keeps going off due to my elevated heart rate (and I keep shutting it off), I pray that I can convince Avery to rethink this partnership. When the car that Riggs had chosen to ride on flipped through the barrier, I speed up, anxious to make sure the idiot was still alive. He is, surprisingly, and not too banged up for someone who had jumped from speeding car.

Riggs points to the man saying that he was getting away. Well, the bus definitely put a kink in that plan. “Huh,” Riggs says. I look at him in what I know is disbelief. This man has killed 4 men in less than a day. This last one was hit by a bus and all he has to say is ‘Huh’! He must have either read my mind or my expression because he replies to my speechless accusation with “What? I didn’t kill him,” before limping off.

_‘Well, Avery’s not gonna believe this.’_

~*~

Looks like my prayers are answered. Avery has dissolved the partnership. As we’re walking out, I try to set some things straight, clear the air. The man seems to be a pretty decent cop when he isn’t trying to get himself killed and I wouldn’t mind working him again, just not as his partner.

At least that was my intention before he decides to judge me because I was scared. Damn right I was scared! Fear is a survival instinct, one that any _normal_ cop would have. Just because something snapped in him and broke that instinct doesn’t give him the right to judge whether I can still do this job. And I have no problem letting him know just that. He starts to walk away from me, then I mention the thin sheet and getting ‘it’ done. He completely stops. He turns and I expected anger, but wasn’t surprised by the blank resignation in those eyes. “Okay, Roger,” he says, giving a slight smile. He continued on to say that I shouldn’t be out in the field, basically that I shouldn’t even be here before walking out.

Well, I was right. He was one hell of a detective, especially since he’d managed to find one of my biggest doubts and throw it back in my face after just one day with him.

**~8~**

** 3 Days **

Three days after meeting Riggs I find myself completely sympathizing with him, despite his craziness. He is grieving a loss I could only imagine and he is putting it into his work. As I’m standing at my door with the bottle of whiskey he’d given me, my mind flashes back to the suicide plans and the man saying that he missed his girl. “I _am_ gonna see you tomorrow, right? You’re not gonna go home and—” I imitate a gun going off at the temple. When he answers in the negative, I push it further. I state that he wants to, not really a question at this point, but he answers it as such in the affirmative.

That makes me wonder. It’s not like he is lacking in the gun department given all the guns I found in his trailer and he has the money for burial costs (though he did say that he would have to check into the L.A. cost for such things), so why hasn’t he done it already? Being the kind of guy I am, I ask. The answer is heart-wrenching and surprisingly the sanest thing the man has said to me in the last three days I’ve known him.

“Pretty crazy, huh?” he says with that sad smile. “That’s probably the least crazy thing about you, man,” I respond.

As he turns to walk away, Trish comes to the door. Somehow, in the span of sixty seconds, this man manages to turn on that Southern charm to talk his way into my house (again!) and into the scotch _he’d_ brought me. As Trish goes to lead our guest to the kitchen (and my chance for my present goes with him), I couldn’t help the small smile. Ever since that man walked into my life three days ago, he’s been trouble. I don’t know why I expected that to change now.

I shut the door and head to the kitchen, where Trish is reaching up into the cabinet for some glasses for the scotch. Riggs is sitting at the island, the bottle already open and ready.  “You sure you should be drinking?” I call out. Though it was barely noticeable, the man jerked like I’d surprised him. _‘Huh?’_ Tilting my head slightly in bemusement, I look to where he’d been staring and land on Trish. Well, that’s not surprising given that my lady isn’t wearing much to hide those beautiful assets of hers. What? Does he expect me to get all hot under the collar over him looking? Please! If I did that every time someone looked at Trish’s ass (and what a wonderful one it is) I would have stressed myself into a heart attack fifteen years ago. Besides, I’m the one that gets to take that ass home, so I have nothing to worry about anyway.

I walk over and take the two glasses from Trish. I kiss her cheek, saying, “Thanks, baby.” Setting the tumblers on the island counter, I grab _my_ bottle of scotch from Riggs’ clenched hand. “You want a drink, Trish?” I offer her.

She gave me that sweet smile and declines, citing the wine at dinner and an early morning as her reason. “I’m going to leave you boys to it. Good night, honey.” I lean down as she rose up to kiss my cheek. She turns to my partner and says, “Good night, Martin.”

He gives her this soft smile, different from the one he used to charm his way into my house, and responds, “Night, Trish.” She walks out of the kitchen, the sway of her hips once again reminding me of exactly what I’m missing out on thanks to my unexpected guest. “Um, you gonna pour me that drink, Rog, or do I need to help you out? I mean I still got one good arm here,” he quipped.

I turn my head back to him and pour the liquor in the tumbler until it was a quarter full. I hold the drink out for him. Just as Riggs is about to take the drink, I pull it back out of reach. “You didn’t answer my question. You sure you should be drinking? You take those pain meds yet?”

“Aw, Rog! I didn’t think you cared!”

“Of course I care. I don’t want your crazy ass OD’ing on me. Now, answer the question,” I demand, putting the glass down on the island counter.

He looks at the glass then at me. “Nah, Roger,” he answers, that charming, joking smile transforming into the one he had given Trish. “I don’t too much care for pills. I prefer to numb my pain the ole fashioned way,” he explains, nodding toward the tumbler. Whether it is the soft smile instead of the charming one or the fact he called me ‘Roger’, I don’t know, but I trust his answer and slide the drink over to him.

I pour up my own drink and raise the glass. “To our first case,” I toast. He clinks his glass against mine and I silently add, _‘And I pray the next one doesn’t kill us.’_

**~8~**

**The End of Chapter 2 of Piece By Piece.**

**Thank you all so much for the kudos and the reviews! They really lit up my days and put a little fire into me writing the next chapter. :)**

**Until next time!**


	3. A Certain Rule

Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)

Key:

“Hi” – Speech

_ ‘Hi’ _ – Thoughts

_ Hi _ – Text Message

This chapter has shifts in POV. 

** ~8~ **

_ During ‘Surf N Turf’ _

** Roger POV  **

The three weeks were almost up. Tomorrow, Riggs and I are back on duty and I hope it isn’t as crazy as my first three days with the Texan. Since the man has been out of town for the last two and a half weeks, Trish thought it would a good idea to invite him over to try to get to know him a little better before going back to work. When I invited him to Sunday dinner, Riggs accepted and said that he would bring a ‘lil somethin’ to complement the ribs.

So, of course I spent the last three days tenderizing and romancing that meat until it would fall off the bone. And what does this man do? He stands me, my family, and most importantly, my ribs up! _‘Oh, hell no he ain’t!’_ Going into the kitchen, I call Riggs. As soon as I hear the words “hello”, I lay into him, relaying all of my efforts and hurt feelings about his absence.

When I finally stop and wait for his apology ( _what else could he give?_ ), all I can hear is harse breathing. Then, he says “I miss you too, Rog,” in a voice that sounds just a little too happy for this time of night. 

“Are you drunk?” I ask, before hearing the click of the call disconnecting. I pull the phone from my ear and look at it to make sure I heard right. No call connected. “I know that ass did not…” I mutter, hitting the redial button. The call rings out a few times before going to voice-mail. I hang up and retry, the result is the same. I hang up again without leaving a message, flinging the phone across the counter. 

I lean against the counter, taking a few calming breaths before rejoining my family in the dining room. I sit down and start back on my kale salad like it was going out of style. 

“Were you able to get in touch with Martin, babe?” Trish asks, smiling. 

“No,” I answer. 

“Really, dad? Then, who were you yelling at in the kitchen?” R.J. inquiries, a sure smile on his face. 

I shift my stare to him and the smile quickly drops. “Tele-marketer. You know how I hate them calling at dinner time.”

“Right…” he says, returning to his plate. Riana just shakes her head and asks her mom if she would take her shopping on the upcoming weekend, thankfully shifting the conversation and mood of the dinner. For now, the elephant in the room was ignored, but not forgotten, just like those plated ribs on my right.

* * *

** Trish POV **

After dinner, the kids went off to finish any homework and get ready for school tomorrow while Roger and I handle the clean-up. Normally, this would be R.J.’s night to do the dishes, but I want to give Roger something else to focus on besides those ribs on the counter. He’s washing and I’m drying. We’re about half-way done when the tension finally start to ease out of his frame. 

“You know, honey, R.J. was right. You were really laying into Martin. What did he say?” I ask. When Roger didn’t say anything and just kept scrubbing the same now clean dish, I knew exactly what had happened. “You didn’t get him a chance to get a word in, did you?” I probe, shaking my head since I already know the answer. _‘Honestly! Sometimes, I wonder who’s supposed to be the senior partner in their relationship…’_

“Now, hang on. I may have said my piece first, but he’s the one that hung up on me after a drunken ‘miss you.’ I even tried to call him back. _He_ is the one that didn’t pick up!” he explains. 

“I wouldn’t pick up either if I thought it was going to be more of the same,” I admonish. “Well, don’t be too hard on him, Roger. I’m sure he has a good reason for missing dinner,” I reassure him, though it was more to keep the situation from escalating than me believing that. 

“I guess…” he mutters as he resumes washing the remaining dishes. I do notice that he is scrubbing one of the cast iron pans a bit harder than was necessary, but I figure that it can take it.

Chuckling at his antics, I put down my drying towel and turn toward the counter. The aluminum foil covered casserole dish containing the aforementioned ribs were right there. Though I know that Roger would deny this to his last breath, those ribs were a symbol, a peace offering of sorts, in hope that the two of them could have a fresh start to their partnership. I pick up the dish, go to the refrigerator, and place the dish on the inside shelf. “Don’t worry so much, baby. I’m sure that Martin will be over tomorrow or the next day to try your ribs,” I said, hoping to reassure him. 

Roger sighs, grabs a towel from the drawer, and turns away from the sink, drying his hands. His forehead creased as he frowns, tossing the towel back toward the countertop. “It isn’t just about the ribs,” he utters. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer until his arms encircle me.

“I know it wasn’t,” I whisper against his shoulder, and I _do_ know. This man has been a part of me for more than twenty years. I know his quirks, his habits, his likes, and his dislikes. I keep his secrets and he keeps mine. One secret being that he shows the world a tough guy image when he is the most sympathetic, compassionate man I have ever known. I know that something about Martin Riggs has touched my husband, and as I look into his eyes and see the frustration there, I decide it is time to take a closer look at Martin Riggs and confirm for myself if I can truly trust him with my husband’s kindness.

** ~8~ **

When I arrive at the office the morning after our dinner with Martin, I start looking through the files my assistant has left for me to review this morning. I open my laptop and as I wait for it to power up, I inspect the folders until I see one marked with the name ‘Riggs, Martin’. 

I put the other files down and flip open the folder. The first thing I see is an 8x10 photo of Martin in his service dress blues. His face was stoic like most military photos I’ve seen, no hint of that charming smile though the laugh lines told me it was there. His hair was combed back, no trace of the fringe I was used to seeing on him. Strangely, I find myself missing it. Setting the picture on my desk, I start reading.

Martin Quinn Riggs, born in Galveston, Texas, moved to El Paso at the age of 12. He joined the Navy right out of high school. _‘Hmm, was that because of no prospects or difficult home life or perhaps both?’_ I wonder. Reading on, there was little in the file beyond the mention of his two tours of duty, his rate (E-5 PO2), his specialty in the SEALs (Sniper), and that he had been stationed at Virginia Beach. He was honorably discharged in 2012. He joined El Paso PD in mid-2013, making detective within the year. _‘Impressive. No doubt, thanks to his to his SEAL training,’_ I muse.

The file’s next page was focused on family history. His parents, Quinton and Deborah Mae, are still married and had moved back to Galveston. Martin is their only child. The rest of it I more or less knew. He marries Miranda Delgado in January 2015 and remains so until her death. The last line on the sheet gripped my heart. 

Ronald Lucas Riggs, born on September 15, 2015 and died the same day. Martin’s baby boy. His baby had died two days before my Harper came into the world. Two days before I almost lost my husband. I remember lying there on the bed holding her as the doctors worked on Roger, trying to get his heart to beat. Those two minutes and twenty-three seconds were the longest in my life. I can only imagine what Martin, who seems to be all alone in this world, is going through. In truth, I have no idea how Martin is holding himself together. According to Roger, “The only things keeping that man together were a few threads of string and Miranda’s memory.” And though that may be true to a point, I believe that as much as Martin wants to die that there is a part of him that wants to live. 

Perhaps, that is why Roger is working so hard to make this partnership work. Roger sees a good man that needs his help, and I’m not going to let him take that fight up alone. I close the folder and pick up the photo again. Looking at the trim and neat SEAL that I know is hidden under the rowdy, rough-edged Riggs I know, an idea comes to me.

Now, it may not be enough to spin those few threads into a rope, but I owe it Martin, Roger, and my family to try.

** ~8~ **

As I step off of the elevator, I breathe a sigh of relief. Roger is there, and he looks fine! _‘Thank God!’_ When his watch had flat-lined, I had imagined the worst. Now that I see that he is not only fine, but bragging about their exploits, my mood shifts from relief to a mix of amusement and annoyance. As I stand there listening, the amusement starts to win out. In all the years Roger has worked Robbery/Homicide, he has never been this enthusiastic about his cases. No matter how much he may complain about Martin, the man has certainly brought the spark back into Roger’s work life. Speaking of Martin, I take a quick glance around, but don’t see any sign of him. 

Announcing my presence, the uniforms scatter in fear of me, which I find hilarious since they aren’t the target of my ire. Roger stands there for a moment, astonished and probably trying to figure out how much of his tale I’d heard, before asking why I was there. I decide to take it all in stride, for the most part. The removal of ribs from the menu for the foreseeable future seems to drive home the point better than any watch could. Laughing to myself, I press the button for the elevator. 

It opens, almost like it was waiting on me, and surprisingly the other person I wanted to see is right there alone in the car. I step in. 

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey, Trish. What are you doing here?” 

“Freeing an innocent man. Where are you coming from?”

“Psyche evaluation,” he says, looking up at the numbers above the elevator car.

“And?” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Are you crazy, Riggs?”

He does this slight smile and says sounding more than a little resigned, “That seems to be the consensus.”

I immediately respond, “Not to me.” I keep my focus on the numbers as the car descends, but I can still feel his eyes on me. 

Good. It means that I’ve gotten his attention.

We continue the elevator ride down to the parking garage. We bid each other good night and I’m about to go to my vehicle when I realize this may be the best time to ask. The best time without Roger around.

“Martin,” I call back to him. He turns toward me. “I know that no matter what I say to Roger, he is gonna follow you down any rabbit hole you go. And that’s okay. It’s what he needs as a cop and probably as a man. But I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost him. So, I need you to promise me one thing.

“At the end of every shift, make sure he comes home to me, to us,” I request. 

The relaxed stance straightens slightly, reminiscent of a soldier awaiting orders. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do the best I can,” he promises. 

I smile at that thinking about the file and Roger’s stories. “From what I hear… that ought to do.” I turn and get in my car. I was just pulling out when I see Roger come into the garage. I wave at the both of them and continue on toward home. A few minutes later, I receive a text from Roger.

_ Going for drinks with Riggs. Don’t wait up. Love you! _

I smile, feeling a little bit of my worry lift from me. Yes, I did come up here to confirm for myself that Roger was okay, but I also manage to fulfill my other objective, an objective that mirrors what Roger, who doesn’t realize he is doing it, is trying to do by befriending Martin. 

The soldier has his mission, a request really, and hopefully that will be enough of a start.

** ~8~ **

** End of Chapter 3! **

** Hi, all! It looks like Trish has decided that she has a dog in this fight and she is ready to do what needs to be done! :) **

** These last few chapters have been my first time writing in 1st person POV. How am I doing?  **

** At the moment, I don’t plan to do this for every episode, but I do have a couple of specific episodes in mind as I proceed to T/M/R goodness. (The Season 1 finale!!! Oh, my goodness! I cannot wait to get to that.) **

** Until next time! **


	4. The Kids Have It!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)
> 
> Key:
> 
> “Hi” – Speech
> 
> _ ‘Hi’ _ – Thoughts
> 
> _ Hi _ – Text Message
> 
> This chapter has shifts in POV.

_ During ‘There Goes the Neighborhood’ and ‘Ties That Bind’. _

** Harper POV **

Today is a pretty day. It’s quiet too. Dada and RaJ are gone. I haven’t seen RiRi. I wonder if she will play with me later. She always does the tickle game I like. 

Right now, I’m in my chair. Mama keeps trying to make me eat my food, but I’m not that hungry. The door opens and it’s just Rigy. I like Rigy. He talks funny and he lets me play with his face hair. Dada and RaJ don’t have face hair like Rigy does. Rigy says something that makes Mama smile like she does when Dada does something silly. When she messes up her top, she even tells Rigy to feed me like she does Dada. His face says he’s a little scared, but that’s just like when Dada gave me to him to hold a while ago. 

He picks up my bowl and says that my food doesn’t look good. I give him my spoon and he tries it. Mama and Dada have done that before to try to get me to eat. It was funny when they tried to smile when they didn’t like it. Rigy doesn’t make one of those faces. His face does go a little funny and says that it’s really good. Finally, someone who likes what I like! But then he starts eating more of my food!

Then, he just stops, looking at something behind me. It’s kinda like when Dada stops when Mama finds him doing something she doesn’t like. “She didn’t want any,” he says, then looks down at me. “Right?”

That’s not really right, but I don’t mind sharing. I reach for my bowl and Rigy puts it back in my tray. Now that I got the bowl, I reach out my hand for the spoon Rigy is holding. I open and close my fingers so that what I want gets across to him. Rigy looks from my hand to the spoon and back, then says, “Uh, Trish? I think she wants her spoon. Is that okay?”

“Go ahead. Just be ready to duck in case she gets fussy,” Mama tells him. Rigy’s got that scared face again, but he gives me the spoon finally. I manage to scoop up some of the food from the bowl. My fist around the handle, I hold out the spoon for Rigy to get some of it. The scared face is gone, but I don’t know what his new face means, but his mouth is open. I lean forward in my chair and put the spoon in his mouth. His mouth closes on the spoon, he leans back and takes the spoon out of his mouth. “Looks like someone decided to share! Good girl!” I hear Mama say over me. I look up in time to get a kiss on my forehead. I giggle at the touch. I love getting kisses; I like Mama kisses best though. 

I look back at Rigy and he is smiling now at me. “Well, thank you very much, Lil’ Harp,” he tells me. He holds the spoon out for me. I open my mouth and he puts the spoon in. He is still smiling. 

I like it better when Rigy smiles. 

* * *

** R.J. POV **

You know, this is what I get for listening to Dad. _“You need to stay connected to the old hood. It’ll teach you some things,”_ he had said. Yeah, it taught me something all right.

Don’t let an old friend kick you out of the car on the edge of the not-so-good part of town. I have been walking for about two hours. I tried texting and calling Marcus with no response. I still can’t believe he ditched me like this. With the sun starting to set, I start to realize that I need to start thinking about who else can come pick me up. I try some of my other friends. One by one, they tell me they can’t either because either they don’t have the car or their parents won’t let them out with the car. 

I hit the ‘End’ button on my phone with a little more force than necessary in my frustration. I really don’t want to call my parents, but I may not have a choice. As I’m scrolling through my Contacts one last time before giving in, I see Riggs’ name. Dad said that he was only giving Ri and I Riggs’ number in case of an emergency and to only use it if they couldn’t get him or their Mom in that event. I know that this isn’t technically an emergency and Dad will kill me if he found out. I look around at my surroundings and the people passing me on the sidewalk. 

I swipe right on Riggs’ name to make the call. 

Thankfully, I manage to talk Riggs into coming to get me. Since he said it would take him about fifteen or twenty minutes for him to get here, I find decent (aka lit) corner to wait for him and to try to get my story together for why I’m so far from home. While lying isn’t really my strong suit (according to Ri, I suck at it), I think I came up with a pretty convincing story where Riggs won’t ask me too many questions. 

Of course Riggs pokes a hole through my story two minutes into the telling. 

Then, he tells me that I had to tell my parents where I was. Damn it! That’s the whole reason I called him in the first place; I kindly inform him of that fact. I know that I am really venting my frustration about the situation at the wrong person, but maybe that’s what I needed. Riggs isn’t loud or even angry at my outburst like I know that my Dad would be. Riggs is just direct when he rebuts my irritation. As much as I hate to admit it, he does have a point. I have to take responsibility for my mess if I ever want Mom and Dad to see me as an adult.

The rest of the ride is in silence, the city flying by. I look over at the man Dad calls unstable and a menace. I’m not quite sure I would call him that. Sure, he’s a little rough looking and he seems to love giving me and Ri bad advice (though I think that is more to see Dad’s eyes bulge out in consternation than what he actually believes), but when it counts he’s there and willing to at least listen. 

It isn’t long before we pull up to my house. I open my door and step out of the truck. I’m about to push the door close when Riggs reiterated, “R.J., be upfront and learn from them. All right?” I nod, not sure if I completely believe this is going to work. It must have shown on my face because he continues, “Buck up, kid. They love you! They aren’t going to murder you.” 

“Uh, you have met my Dad, right? Tall, bald, tells jokes that are so old they have kids older than me?” I question him. 

That gets a full-blown chuckle out of the auburn haired man. “Good point. Well, your mom can handle him just fine. _She_ won’t let him kill you. Just be honest about it and it shouldn’t be too bad. A slight maiming at most.” This time I laugh too. I push the door close, about to head to my front door when I remember something. 

Knocking on the window, I wait for him to wind it down and say, “Thank you, Mr. Riggs, for bringing me home and for listening.” 

For a minute he looks pretty shocked at my thank you, then he just smiles and replies, “No problem, kid. And just Riggs is fine. My daddy’s the Mister in the family and he’s still in Texas!” He pulls off after that. 

I turn and walk to my front door, house keys in hand. My hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath, stand up straight, unlock the door and step inside. 

* * *

** Riana POV **

“I love you too, Dad,” I say to him. He smiles and makes to stand up. “Is it true that Riggs went with you to talk to Chauncey?”

He snorts, which evolves into that soft smile he was just giving me. “Yeah and can you believe _he was_ the voice of reason in that whole situation?” he asks. To be honest, I can believe it, and I don’t think Dad is truly surprised by it either. True, Riggs is reckless, but from what Dad’s told us that reckless abandon only applies to his life. Dad’s life, or us, not so much. 

“Really?” I question, deciding to keep my thoughts to myself. 

He nods, “It was a weird experience. That man… he is crazy in a lot of ways and he has good reason to be, but if he would just give himself the chance, he could have a life here,” he expressed, his focus not on me anymore. He stares off like that for a few seconds, then shakes himself out of his fugue and sighs. He shifts back to me and smiles. Patting my knee through the afghan covering me, he tells me not to stay up too late, get up and heads for the stairs.

I shout out “Good Night!” as he heads up the stairs, snuggling deeper into the couch. Rubbing my forehead, I sigh as I think about the last couple of days. I still can’t believe Chauncey put my picture on his FB page! That idiot! I’m so glad that Mom got him to take it down (I think she hinted at the possibility of child porn charges or something), though mostly because I don’t want anyone knowing I dated that moron. I mean, really?! What nineteen year old would put a sexy pic of their UNDERAGE girlfriend as the cover of their FB page and not expect trouble?!! 

Shaking my head at Chauncey’s stupidity, I think about my Dad. I’m really not surprised he found out about Chauncey (Hmm, that reminds me, I need to have a talk with R.J. the suck-up about that), and I’m not really all that mad about their little confrontation. I mean, it was bound to happen. I think I’m more embarrassed about he had Chauncey thieving for him. A plan that Riggs came up with according to Mom. 

I lean over toward the table, grabbing my cell. Opening the messaging app, I begin my text.

_Hi, Mr. Riggs. This is Riana M. Thx 4 keeping my dad from killing C- Dawg._ I send the message. I was about to set my cell back on the table, not expecting an immediate response when surprise, surprise, one came in. 

_ Hi, Riana. NP about Rog. Also, just Riggs, please. Aren’t kids these days supposed to disrespect their elders? What’s with all the manners? :) _

_ Blame Mom & Dad. & I’ll call u that only if u call me Ri. :D _

_ You got yourself a deal! Night, Ri! _

_ Night, Riggs! _

I smile as I look at the convo history with a small bit of disbelief on my part. I’d told him to call me ‘Ri’. I mean, that’s weird for me since I only let family call me that. I mean, Riggs has only been Dad’s partner for close to six months… Maybe it’s ‘cause Riggs is over so much or maybe ‘cause even though Dad complains non-stop about him, it’s obvious he trusts him with more than just the work stuff. 

I shrug and put the cell back on the table. Well, whatever. It’s nothing to really stress myself out about. Riggs is Riggs. As I lay back and listen to the sounds of the house and my family settling in for the night, I reflect back on what Dad said. I hope that Riggs realizes that he has more than a life here. 

He also has family.

** ~8~ **

**End of Chapter 4 of Piece By Piece!**

**Now, y’all have a little in-sight into what the Murtaugh clan think about Riggs! **

**My timeline is a little weird, though I blame the show for that mostly. :) By the end of Ties That Bind, I estimate that Riggs and Roger have been partners for about five-six months since the show has them meeting in March 2016 (six months after Miranda died). If you’re curious about my timeline for the eps, PM me or ask in a review. **

**Until next time!**


End file.
